As I began to write this, Judy and I were sitting in the airport in Las Vegas waiting for our twice delayed flight to arrive. This allowed ample time for reflection on our lovely, pre-Christmas, weekend getaway. I will start by saying that a trip to Vegas is something everyone should do at least once in their lifetime. Vegas is hard to describe. It's amazing what unmitigated greed and truckloads of money can accomplish. The sheer scale, scope, and decadence of it all are unimaginable. Speaking as a lover of all things shiny, I must admit that at several instances throughout the weekend, I suffered from sensory overload. On more than one occasion, Judy could be heard to say, "Boo...Boo...hello?" only to find me wide-eyed, mouth agape, and near the point of seizure from taking in all the bright lights and loud noises.

There are casinos in Vegas that represent almost every area of the world. Morocco is represented by the Aladdin. The Venetian, the Bellagio, and Caesar's Palace stand for Italy. France was, of course, represented by Paris. The Americas, not to be outdone, were accounted for by Rio, and New York, New York. These examples just scratch the surface. Vegas was a veritable U.N. of debauchery. It was a lot like Epcot in Disneyworld, only with hookers, legalized gambling, and no closing time.

I shall now describe the trip from beginning to end. It started full of hope and excitement; that is until we reached the airport. We were scheduled to fly Ted. Ted was, I believe, an attempt by United to put a cuddly, less impersonal face on its airline. I am happy to report that they have failed spectacularly. In fact, in light of this recent experience with United, I can now, whole heartedly, endorse Frontier. When we arrived at DIA, we checked in to find that we could have done it earlier via the internet. Due to this lack of foresight, it seemed that it was impossible to get two seats together. Hence it turned out that the lovely missus and I would be sitting two rows apart, one directly behind the other. Once we boarded, I used a little persuasion and the promise of five dollar airplane booze to secure a seat next to my beloved. That five dollars of largesse was all that was needed to accomplish this seemed rather a bargain, but it was, after all, an economy flight. Actually, it seemed as though they did this same thing to many other groups of customers as well, or as United prefers to refer to them as, submissives with wallets. It is my theory that this was some conspiracy on the part of United to curtail the amount of intestinal gas emissions on the part of its clientele. Think about it. I know I'm a lot less likely to let one go surrounded by strangers. This fact, though, is the cause for much consternation for my wife, as she wonders how she achieved unprotected status.

To be fair, though, it must be noted that this was a free trip made possible by the fine folks at the Denver Newspaper Agency and Yourhub.com. All that was required of me was seven dollars worth of blue makeup and the physical inability to feel shame or embarrassment. By simply painting myself blue and posing for a few photos, I was able to secure airfare, a room for Judy and myself at the Venetian for two nights, two tickets to the Blue Man Group show, and a little spending money. All in all, it was a bargain by any account. In fact, that became our mantra for the weekend. Judy and I can be cranky travelers to begin with. We were, however, able to achieve a Zen-like state of peacefulness by simply repeating, "It's a free trip...it's a free trip...it's a free trip."

I must say that the Las Vegas airport was a model of efficiency in getting passengers deboarded, reunited with their luggage, and shuttled to the strip. The hardcore gamblers didn't even need to leave the airport to gamble as one-armed bandits were conveniently located at the gates and throughout the airport. I really liked our shuttle driver. To say he drove somewhat aggressively was to say that the pope is marginally Catholic. "Holy cow! You almost ran over that guy! Awesome, we'll be at the hotel before nine thirty!" Note to self: After exiting shuttle and retrieving the bag, we should walk behind rather than in front of the shuttle.

I am sure I cemented my status as a tourist by taking twenty or so pictures in the lobby of the Venetian. After a quick jaunt up to a suite that was larger than our first apartment, Judy and I hit the strip. We decided to hoof it after checking out the fares for the monorail. It is my recommendation that when walking the strip, one should avoid eye contact at all costs. The typical sporting resort patron (or as they are referred to within the industry, meat sacks with money) may be unaware that there are few "nice" people in Vegas other than their fellow tourists. Naturally, the hotel employees are pleasant and helpful, as well they should be. Although our stay was complimentary, I'm sure the money a typical patron has to shell out for a level of amenity that would make Caligula blush is considerable. Thus, a certain measure of backside smooching is to be expected.

Upon leaving the hotel, a tourist finds that all of the other ambassadors de Las Vegas who go out of their way to make his acquaintance fall into two categories: time share hucksters and flyer pimps.

Time share hucksters come on smoothly. They will talk to the tourist in a friendly manner before trying to claim two hours of his life telling him about the joys of owning nine hundred square feet of Las Vegas for a couple of weeks per year. These typically start in one of three ways:

"Hey, are you folks married?"

"Hi there folks; where are you from?"

"How are you folks doing?"

I should relate, at this point, that I tolerate time share come-ons like the lactose intolerant tolerate whole milk. Once I was on to them, however, these come-ons proved to be sources of unending amusement for Judy and me. I soon developed a repertoire for each question. The catalog for "Are you folks married?" included:

"No, I'm Vanilla Velvet, and this is my best ho', Chantrelle."

"No, I just picked her up, and I'm looking to get her wasted. Can you recommend any good bars?"

"Yes, and you know, they said siblings couldn't marry and have normal children, but we proved them all wrong."

The response list for "Where are you folks from?" contained:

"North America."

"Europe. Sorry; no English." This was said with absolutely no accent.

"The fat man skinny dips at midnight. Don't shoot until you see the whites of their eyes!"

For "How are you folks doing?" the answers were as follows:

"Fine; thanks for asking!" said while quickly walking past.

"I'm okay, but she's psychotic and packing heat. Watch out!"

"Well other than having to take a huge crap, I'm perfect."

Flyer pimps are charming folks who, like worker ants gathered around the colony, line the sidewalks around the hotels and hand out flyers touting the wares of all of the failed showgirls in the greater Las Vegas area. Again, like Disney, happy endings were guaranteed. It is my suspicion, however, that happy ending carries a somewhat different connotation in Vegas. They may also be called "snappers" for the annoying habit of snapping the cards they are trying to give to the tourists against the stacks of the cards in their other hands in an effort to have them make eye contact. These people are also equal opportunity. Most of the cards given to us were given to Judy. It is comforting to know that should Judy and I ever be interested in a ménage-a-trois, there are over a thousand people in Vegas willing to lend a hand.

After running what I like to call the gauntlet of sin, we finally made it to the Bellagio at about ten thirty, that Friday night. We walked through the hotel, pausing to take a picture of the way cool ceiling art directly in front of the front desk. From there, it was outside to secure a good spot for the next fountain show. These were timed to Christmas music and went off every fifteen minutes. Add this to any Vegas must do list. After that, we plodded back to the room to crumble into sleep, stopping only to partake of alcoholically enhanced hot cocoa in front of Caesar's Palace.

After a quick breakfast Saturday morning, we put on our walking shoes and again hit the strip. We were delighted to find that right there amidst the cacophony were a couple of great museums; an oasis of culture in a desert of avarice. We again made our way to the Bellagio which had a spectacular Ansel Adams exhibit in its museum. If we so desired, Judy and I could have also taken in a Maplethorpe exhibition right there in the Venetian at the Guggenheim Hermitage Museum. However, I assured Judy that if she wanted to see pictures of a hot guy's buttocks, all we needed to do was go back to the room and fire up the digital camera. And for my part, the exhibit was unnecessary as we couldn't swing a stick in Vegas without hitting a picture or a statue that featured bare breasts. It didn't even matter if the statues were a half-human, half-animal hybrid. The animal part would always start below the breasties.

After taking in the Adams exhibit, we went to lunch at the Todai Japanese buffet at the Aladdin. We suspect that it was here that I acquired a wicked case of food poisoning. We compared our intake and decided the culprit must have been the aptly named "Seafood Dynamite". This was a mystery ball of fish-like substances on a corn chip with some kind of sauce. Normally, I am not quite that reckless, but as the buffet was seventeen bucks each, I decided that I must get my money's worth. The claxon of gastrointestinal distress went off almost immediately. Much to my dismay, I broke my own personal best and set a new record for checks on the poo chart over the course of the next twenty four hours. Still feeling puny, I went down to the theater will call with Judy at around four that Saturday to pick up our Blue Man tickets. On the way back to the room we picked up anti-poo and anti-barf medication. After taking doses of each, I promptly barfed, instantly feeling better about myself and my place in the world. I also made a solemn vow to more thoroughly chew my food after launching a projectile of a nearly fully intact piece of bourbon chicken through my right nostril.

I remained in the room while Judy went down to grab some supper. At seven, we went down to be seated for the show. We were given awesome seats, center stage, in row twenty five. We were also given a bag of swag and a meet and greet with group members after the show. Even half in the bag, I found this to be a great experience. Afterwards, we stopped to get a gelato in an effort to ease my queasy stomach which turned out to be successful. Other than three more rides on the sore bottom express throughout the night, I slept peacefully. Sunday came to find us sleeping in, which for Judy is about six and for me, seven thirty or so. We went down to the food court and enjoyed a leisurely breakfast with our complimentary newspaper. Following that, we went back to the room, packed up our belongings, and headed down to the desk to check out. We checked out shortly before noon and hopped the shuttle to the airport.

Having learned our lesson on the way down, we had the concierge secure our seat assignments for us from the hotel on Saturday. Arriving at the airport, we were less than enthused when the representative at the quick check in for You'reblighted, er, United, told us the flight had been cancelled, and we'd been moved to an earlier flight. Being the optimist, I thought, "Cool. This is why we got here three hours early." So we got in the line for randomly making travelers lives miserable to wait for reassignment. After waiting thirty minutes in this line, we found out our original flight was miraculously back on line, and our previous seat assignments were again valid. Not big line lovers, we succinctly told the lady at the check in precisely what we thought the odds of any one in their organization being able to locate their posterior with multiple hands were. After that we were in turn treated to the "do you want to leave Vegas or not" attitude. We are convinced United's new motto is: "We know we suck, but what are you going to do? Buy a ticket on another airline now? Sit down and shut up, sucker."

Just two delays and an hour and a half later, we were in the air. It is my theory that all flights out of Vegas are "delayed" in a last ditch effort to pry what little remaining money a tourist has out of his pockets with the airport slots. All in all though, it was an outstanding trip. The last things I'll share are some dos and don'ts.

Do:

Tip well. On a short stay, a five spot for the housekeeper the first night will secure roll down service and chocolates the second night. Waiters come around more often, too.

Walk the strip. One should really see the seedy side of life, and it will help to walk the buffet off of his fat arse.

See a show or hit a museum. One can sit his pasty arse inside in Colorado just as easy as Vegas. Some of the shows, however, can only be seen in Vegas.

Don't:

Be the loud, drunken, obnoxious person that everyone would love to see beaten by two ginormous guys named Vito.

Go to Vegas expecting them to endorse the same anti-smoking fervor enjoyed in colorful Colorado. The smell of flaming turds (cigars, that is) is a permanent cloud that hangs heavy in every casino. Never have so many compensated for so little with so much.

Ever, under any circumstances, eat anything called "seafood dynamite".